Chasing After A Man Unfamiliar With Affection
by ShatteredAngelWings
Summary: [7th year.] When Hermione stumbles across a journal with the name The Property of the Half Blood Prince, it changes the way she sees Snape…just a little bit. SSHG


PROLOGUE  
September 13th, 1977

_FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD Severus Snape wiped the hot, burning tears from his eyes as he leaned over the journal, his quill crawling across the page. He was in the potions lab; his only safe haven from the embarrassment of being hung by his robes by Potter's crew._

_He shoved back his lanky hair, let his tears fall onto the yellowed pages, and shuddered slightly as his quill tip crawled across the page in his spidery, cramped handwriting. He was so engrossed in documenting his feelings that he didn't notice the single pewter cauldron hissing and spitting behind him; bits of the blue potion bubbled and splashed into the air. Just as he set down the quill, the cauldron exploded._

_Pain seared his back, his head burned violently and he let out a short scream as he toppled off the chair. His head struck the edge of the tables and blood ran across the tabletop; slowly, unbeknownst to the professor who found him, the diary soaked up its owner's blood and a puddle of the unknown potion._  
_ The diary was lost September 13th, 1977._

CHAPTER ONE  
September 13th, 1997

HERMIONE GRANGER STOMPED away from her friends Ron Weasley and Harry Potter after she and Ron had a row about her submersing herself in her schoolwork. Her heels clicked on the cobblestone underneath her feet; her strides were long but angry as she paced three times in front of the Room of Requirement.

She relaxed as she pushed open the door, her arms trembling ever so slightly. She really was weak; maybe she'd take up Ginny on her offer to martial arts class and yoga.

The room had changed for her needs; it was quiet with dark walls, thick plush carpet lining the floor, and a fireplace on the far wall. The walls were covered in books, only breaking for an armchair or two between them. Above the armchairs were small wall lamps that glowed softly. In front of the fire were two couches facing each other; on each left side sat two plush armchairs, separated by a clear glass coffee table.

A small green notebook on the table caught her eye and she sank down in front of the fire, casting a few diagnosis spells to make sure it wasn't laced with Dark magic. It wasn't. "Who's is this?" she whispered as she slowly pried open the pages.

The first page had familiar spiky handwriting. 'Property of the Half Blood Prince.' Snape. This was /Snape's/ journal? Humming to herself, Hermione flipped open to a weathered, yellowy page that read_: February 2nd, 1977._

_They taunted me again. They called me a slimy, greasy git with a…_ The handwriting grew shaky, like Snape was too upset to write in the neat, spiky handwriting that was used on the inside of the cover.

_A filthy Muggle for a father and a slut witch for a mum. I hate them, I really do. If I could, I'd hang them by their robes and strip them down to their little boy underthings! Just like they did to me, in front of everyone, including Headmaster Dumbledore. Of course that damned old fool did nothing and laughed it off like it was a little prank. Lucius comforted me a little bit; he and that girl, the willowy, porcelain one, Narcissa are my only friends. I hate this school. The only thing worthwhile here is the library and Potions class._

Snape, her age, had sat here and poured his heart out after being harassed by the Marauders. Hermione sighed and lay down; pressing the cool, worn leather against her chest, she closed we eyes and fell asleep to the sound of her breathing and images of a young, misunderstood Snape leaning over his journal.

oOo

She woke with a jolt, the breath flying from her lungs in a wheezy half-gasp as she bolted upright. The journal fluttered off her breasts with a thump and she scrambled to pick it up, to check over the pages to make sure she hadn't wrinkled or torn any of them.

Running a hand through her knotted hair, she glanced around and stood up. Tucking the journal into her bag, she made her way out of the room of requirement and padded down the back hall. Her footsteps were loud, each one like a gunshot. The halls were deserted, not a soul to be seen.

Hermione's mind started to turn gears. She'd fallen asleep sometimes in the late afternoon so how long had she been―The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as a puff of warm breath brushed her skin. Her body locked up. "Miss Granger," purred a voice not unlike a predator's, "care to tell me what makes you think you can walk around after curfew?"

Slowly, she turned about and came fact-to-face, okay, more like face-to-abdomen with the man she'd been reading about.  
Severus Snape loomed above her; tall and imposing like the embodiment of death. His long, black hair framed his thin face and he stared down at her with gleaming animal eyes. All she could think about was the journal, burning against her hip now, burning a hole in her bag. Of a young Snape leaning over the journal after a horrible day at school.

A sneer rose on his thin lips. "My, my, the know it all can't answer a teacher's question?" He leaned in close and she barely registered his hawkish nose inches from hers. Why was he here? Had she really been asleep that long?  
"Miss Granger!" Long, elegant fingers dug into her arm and she jerked ungracefully, yelping in surprise. Her brain stuttered and chugged to work as she tried to figure out who was holding her arm.

Pressing her lips together, Hermione pulled her injured arm away. The nasty hex from a Death Eater had yet to heal completely. She could feel the blood throb in her arm from Snape's grip. "Thirty points from Gryffindor for breaking curfew and a week of detention with me, starting tomorrow," the spy told her. She squinted and, in the flickering light, she thought she saw a glimmer of the boy he'd been under the man he was now, a little odd but brilliant.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Miss Granger?" His voice slid around her like a fog and she shook her head, tangled hair bobbing. Whatever she'd seen vanished when he shifted out of the glow. "Goodnight, Professor Snape," was all she could manage as she watched his lean figure stalk away, his gait smooth and soundless, like a ghost…and just as unwelcome.

He was only a speck of black when Hermione turned away, tore open her bag, and pulled out the journal. It felt hot in her hands. Her fingers shook. Quickly, she tucked it back into her tote and headed to Gryffindor tower.

She had the oddest feeling she was being watched as she made her way back to the commons room but, when she turned her head, she didn't see anyone. Drowsy now, she ignored the creepy factor and continued on her way.

oOo

Lavender Brown woke Hermione the next morning gently. Biting a loud yawn, the know-it-all sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Thanks," Hermione told Ron's current girlfriend. Although she had originally detested Lavender, Hermione found that the ditzy girl wasn't that bad. Unless she was trying to set up the introverted girl with some idiot seventh year, of course.  
Lavender smiled and rose off Hermione's bed, changing into her outfit of the day: a pink dress with a pink sweater, white tights and cute shoes.

"I have detention with Snape," Hermione said to her roommate as she dressed in a comfy, worn sweater and jeans. Seeing as it was the weekend, most of the other students were at Hogsmeade. "Tell that bottomless pit I said hi." Lavender's brown-grey eyes met Hermione's in the mirror. "I will." One quick lipsticked smile later and Lavender was gone, heading out to Three Broomsticks to meet with Harry and her Won-Won.

After giving up on her wild mane of hair, Hermione made her way down the steps to the Great Hall, to breakfast…and detention with one sour man by the name of―"You're quite lucky, Hermione, that you can pull that wild hair off," snickered a voice behind her.

Draco stood, dressed in jeans and a tailored shirt, his hair brushed to the side today. The fringe of his bangs was a faded, washed-out pink.

"Hello to you too, Draco," she snorted through a laugh. It had become obvious that the Purebloods, after the war, had reconciled with Muggleborns and HalfBloods, now with the threat of Voldemort eliminated. "What's that?" Draco waved his fingers at Snape's journal.

"I went to the Room of Requirement last night, as you know," Hermione whispered, huddling close as the two sank down at a random table. No longer were tables designated for a certain house; except Sorting and special assemblies, students could very well sit wherever they wished. With a quick glance around, the witch continued, pushing her fried eggs around her plate. "I found this. It's a journal. Someone you know. A certain―"

"What do we have here? A lion and a snake?" Snape drawled from behind them. Hermione's fingers bit into the journal as she tucked it under the table. The Slytherin boy glanced up casually at his godfather with silver eyes. "Yes. It seems so, Snape." Snape's eyes shifted from his godson to the witch trembling.

"Pull back that blasted hair when you arrive, foolish girl," he snapped, "and come by no later than 12." He stared at her, his eyes flitting down to where her arm was hidden under the table. A tingling buzz shot through her viciously and she jolted slightly; his eyes narrowed. "What's that in your hands, Miss Granger?"  
Her hands were sweating as the hard leather of the book's spine dug into her palm. "A book, quite boring," Draco said beside her and a wave of relief washed over her; she felt as though the temperature had dropped several notches in degrees. "May I see it?" Snape asked in a silky purr, his black eyes shimmering with a heat that made Hermione shrink back a tiny bit.

"No," she replied as the table clipped her elbow. "My mother gave me it and I have yet to read it, sir." The lie was thin, easily questionable and she knew, in that very moment, that Snape did not buy it. His eyes narrowed to slits as his charm fell away, making her feel cold all over, and he swept to the dais on which the staff ate, looking less imposing without his robes. He wore his black slacks, a crisp black Oxford shirt that reminded her of Victorian era, and a slimming black vest; without his robes, he looked taller…and handsomer.

He could wear a bunny suit and still scare the piss out of you. Hermione choked on her eggs from laughing and Draco thumped her on the back; Parvati came and sat next to him, Pansy sank down on Hermione's side. She felt safe, at home, with her odd group of friends from all houses. Luna even sat with them and spoke dreamily about Nargles while holding a copy of the Quibbler. The owls arrived and several heavy packages arrived for the bushy-haired girl. Books for her birthday, come late, and the Daily Prophet.

The picture and headline caught her attention. A scowling Severus Snape glared at her and then his hand came up, hiding his face as he tried to move out of the camera's view. The headline read: _Severus Snape, Hogwarts's Most Sought After Bachelor! _She sputtered.

Glancing up, she found him watching her with curious eyes. When he was caught staring, he didn't look away like she would've; he kept staring and staring at her. Finally, she turned her head away from his intense gaze.

Detention would be hell.

oOo

At twelve o' clock sharp, Hermione arrived at the Potions classroom with her hair in a half-assed bun and a headband to keep away wayward curls.

Without knocking, she entered and found Snape walking out of his private storeroom, holding a cauldron that dripped water onto the floor slightly. He looked up at her sharply and she noted that his hair was pulled back into a bun as well, a few wisps hanging in his face.

He looked very lovely like that and she wondered how he'd look if he was red-faced with a lover, if he'd wear his hair back if only she asked—Tearing her eyes away from his face, she glanced about the classroom and found lines and lines of dirty cauldrons. He straightened and swept a thin hand down his vest, his black eyes locked on her.

"I trust that you know how to clean cauldrons," he said dismissively. An angry wave rose in her chest but she stomped it down. "Yes," she squeaked and shed her robes, setting them on an empty chair.

"Here."

He thrust out a scrub brush and bottle of soap at her. "Get cleaning."

_Get laid_, she thought angrily with narrowed eyes as Snape turned away and started for his desk. He walked with a grace that made it seem like he was gliding on air; he had a very nice bum, quite shapely and a little more than a handful.

Her face burning quite unpleasantly, Hermione pushed up her sleeves, cast a sour look in her professor's direction, and set about scrubbing a ruined Calming Drought.


End file.
